


bottle it up

by saysthemagpie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bisexuality, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Fingering, Fluff, Gay Bar, Genderswap, Girl Direction, High School, Insecure Liam, Jealousy, Light Angst, Multi, Other, Pining, References to Past Bullying, Self-Esteem Issues, always-cis-girls!OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysthemagpie/pseuds/saysthemagpie
Summary: Liam Payne's got a plan. She's going to reinvent herself: new school, new friends, new Liam. Sneaking out with her teammates to visit the local gay bar seems like a good start. It's not her fault things get a bit out of hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissLii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLii/gifts).



> MissLii, this was my first time writing Liam POV, and I had so much fun with it! I meant to write you something really tropey, but I wound up doing a sort of mishmash of your prompt requests. I also threw in some silly Narry, because that's my jam, and some older-poly-queer-girls!Jade/Perrie. There's a little angst but also a happy ending and some smut! Hope you enjoy :) and thanks also to the amazing and very patient exchange organizers!
> 
> Title is from the Sara Bareilles song "Bottle It Up," which is actually a pretty good soundtrack to this fic. Completely un-brit-picked, sorryyy.

“I just don't know if this is a good idea,” Liam says worriedly as the bus pulls away from the deserted street corner, brakes screeching. “What if Coach Winston does a room check?”

Nobody pays her any attention. Niall and Harry are busy play-fighting under a flickering neon sign that reads CASH 4 GOLD, Harry laughing and squealing, trying to tickle Niall’s ribs under her crop-top as Niall wrestles her into a headlock. Zayn’s standing a safe distance away from them on the kerb, smoking a half-finished cigarette and watching them with a bored expression on her face. Louis’ standing next to her, staring down at her phone. 

Liam bites her lip, her stomach sinking as the bus turns the corner and disappears into the night. Maybe they just hadn’t heard her. She could say it one more time, couldn’t she, just in case?

 _No,_ she tells herself firmly. That’s exactly what the old Liam would’ve done. She would’ve kept harping on about what Coach might think till everyone got bored of her and stopped inviting her to things. The old Liam would probably be in her hotel room all alone right now, tucked under the duvet with freshly brushed teeth and a scrubbed-clean face, watching reruns on telly and waiting for bedcheck like a good girl.

That Liam’s gone, left behind in Wolverhampton three months ago when her dad switched jobs and moved the whole family. New Liam’s different. She’s _fun,_ for one thing. She has friends—Zayn’s her friend, she’s pretty sure, and Harry and Niall seem to like her well enough—and she does exciting things with them, like sneak out of tournament hotels in the middle of the night to celebrate a big win. New Liam wears sexy little black dresses and more makeup than she’s ever had on her face before (Zayn’s doing, on both counts), and totters around on dangerously high heels. 

She’ll probably twist an ankle and have to sit out the rest of the season. Then she’ll have to explain to Coach how it happened, and the whole sordid story will come out, and— 

“You all right, babes?” 

Liam startles a little; she hadn’t realized Zayn was so close. “Oh,” she says, as brightly as she can manage. She tugs at the hem of her dress. “Yeah, it’s—it’s great, isn’t it? It’s really fun, sneaking out.” 

Zayn smiles at her. “You don’t have to worry about Coach, you know,” she says. “He never checks after lights out. Trust me, we’ve been doing this for years.” 

It shouldn’t make her throat feel tight, Zayn being nice to her. Old Liam would’ve been pathetically grateful for the attention, but she knows it puts people off, wanting it too much. New Liam doesn’t crave kindness like that. She tries not to, anyway.

“Got it.” Louis looks up from her phone. “Just down that street, then two blocks east. Everybody got their fakes?” 

“Got ours,” Niall says cheerfully. “Hey, Harry, you hungry?”

“I had chips for dinner,” says Harry, craning her head to look at her as best she can, considering Niall’s got an arm round her neck. “How come?”

“Got a knuckle sandwich for ya, coming right up!” Niall mimes punching her. Harry lets out an ear-splitting shriek, wriggling in Niall’s grasp like a fish caught on a line as she tries to bite her fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, rolling her eyes. “Do you two ever stop flirting? It’s embarrassing to watch, honestly.”

“Don’t,” Louis says shortly. “You’ll only encourage them.”

Niall stops roughhousing with Harry for a moment, frowning at her. “What’s your problem, Tommo?” she says. “You’ve been weird ever since we left the hotel.”

For some reason, Louis glances at Liam, catching her eye for a minute. Then she looks away. “Can we just go, please,” she snaps. “I’m freezing my arse off in this stupid dress.”

Liam makes a small, involuntary noise. Everyone turns to look at her. 

“Well?” Louis says. Liam quails a little at the sharpness in her tone.

“I, um—I don’t have one,” she stammers. “An ID, I mean. I’m sorry, I dunno what I was thinking, of course I’d need one. I should’ve—you should go on without me. I’ll just wait for the next bus back.”

“Oh, you’re all right,” Zayn says. “Harry brought one for you.”

“It’s my sister’s,” Harry explains. “It’s expired, but they don’t really check here anyway, we’ve been to this one before. Anyway, if it doesn’t work you can always use mine.”

“Won’t you need it?”

“Oh, they always let Harry in,” says Niall, ruffling Harry’s hair before releasing her from the headlock. Harry sways a little on her high heels, then leans right back into Niall’s side, drawn to her like a magnet. 

“S’my superpower,” she tells Liam, grinning. “Getting into bars.”

“It’s ‘cos you never wear a bra, you slag.” Zayn drops her cigarette, grinding it out on the pavement under her heel. “Whoever’s at the front door is too busy staring down your top to check your ID.”

Harry sticks her tongue out at her. She’s definitely not wearing a bra now, Liam can’t help but notice. She can just make out the soft curve of Harry’s breasts through the thin, almost transparent fabric of her sheer black top. 

And that’s a bit awkward, probably, getting an eyeful of your new mate’s tits. Liam looks quickly away, only to discover that Louis’ staring at her again, a scowl on her face. 

“Let’s go!” Niall whoops. “Time to fuckin’ celebrate!”

The bar’s a squat, unassuming concrete structure with bars on the windows. Liam eyes it with some trepidation. A bored-looking bouncer’s stationed at the doorway, scrolling through Twitter. Liam’s heart’s pounding as she presents Gemma Styles’s ID to him, but the bloke barely looks up from his phone.

“You ladies have a nice night,” he says, stamping the backs of their hands. 

Liam’s been so busy fumbling with her cards she doesn’t see the small, slightly dingy rainbow flag hung up over the front door till she’s actually walking under it. Zayn peels off from the group almost immediately, heading for the toilets. Harry and Niall have made a beeline for the dance floor, so Louis’ the only one within earshot when Liam says, surprised, “It’s a gay bar.” 

“Got a problem with that, Payne?” 

Liam shakes her head, a little surprised at the sharpness in Louis’ tone. Louis studies her for a moment, then seems to relax slightly. “Well, good,” she says. “Come on, first round’s on me. And try to look a little less like you’ve never seen the inside of a bar before, would you?” 

When Louis elbows her way up the bar, the bartender—a slightly older butch woman, mid-forties at a guess—gives them a skeptical once-over. “You’re 18?” 

Liam opens her mouth, probably to confess her wrongdoings and throw herself at the bartender’s mercy. Fortunately, Louis beats her to the punch. 

“19, actually,” she says smoothly, leaning against the bar. The smile she flashes the bartender transforms her whole face, softening the sharp line of her jaw, melting the icy blue of her eyes. There’s something impish in her expression, a wicked humor Liam’s only seen directed at the other girls, never at her. “I was 18 last year. What, did you forget me already?”

The bartender studies at her for a moment. Then, slowly, she starts to grin.

“Oh yeah,” she says. “The little loud one.” 

“Excuse me.” Louis pretends to be affronted. “I’m 5’9, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, really.”

“In heels,” Louis amends, flashing her that slightly mischievous grin again. “So. What’s a girl have to do around here to get a shot of your shittiest vodka?”

“Save the flirting for a nice girl your own age,” the bartender says sternly, though it’s clear she’s charmed. “Speaking of which, darling, what’ll it be?” This last she addresses to Liam.

“Um,” Liam stammers, her palms sweating. What she really wants is an orange squash, without any alcohol in it, but the bartender and Louis are both looking at her expectantly. “I—I’ll have a vodka too, please.” 

“Shot or on the rocks?”

Liam shoots Louis a panicky look. 

“Shots,” says Louis, fishing a credit card out of the front of her low-cut dress. “Better make ‘em doubles.” 

*

Liam takes the shot. It burns going down, but she swallows it in one go anyway, suppressing her grimace. Maybe it’ll help, if she’s really going to try to make small talk with Louis. 

“You played really well tonight,” she offers shyly. “That last goal, that was was really amazing.” 

Louis makes a sound that might be acknowledgement, staring out over the dance floor. Liam follows her gaze. It’s more crowded now, but it’s still easy enough to spot Harry and Niall, mostly because everyone seems to be giving them a wide berth. Niall’s swaying back and forth with her eyes closed and her arms over her head, her crop top riding up to expose her pale midriff. Harry’s dancing in slow circles around her, a slightly predatory expression on her face. Every once in a while she’ll shimmy in closer, shake her tits in Niall’s general direction, and then retreat before Niall can open her eyes and grab her. 

“It’s like something off _Planet Earth_ , isn’t it?” 

“What?” 

Liam goes pink. “Like a—a mating dance or something. Like that bird—I dunno what it’s called, the one that sticks its feathers up and hops around a lot.” 

“Bird of paradise,” Louis supplies. 

“Oh, that’s it,” says Liam, pleased. “D’you watch the show?”

“My little sisters do,” says Louis. “Fizzy—her name’s Félicité actually, but we call her Fiz—she’s been obsessed with David Attenborough for ages. Think she’s got a bit of a crush, actually.” 

Liam wrinkles her nose. “But he’s so old.” 

“Bit of a silver fox, though, isn’t he,” says Louis, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Imagine what he’d be like in the bedroom. Think he does his nature programming voice when he talks dirty?”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Liam protests, but she’s laughing. She can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or Louis’ attention that’s making her feel relaxed and warm all over, her worry from earlier bleeding out of her. It’s lovely. Louis’ always like this with the other girls—easy and light, a bit teasing—but she’s never spoken to Liam that way before. She’s always just assumed Louis found her too dull to bother with. 

“I used to watch him after school with Andy,” she says. Usually it was because they hadn’t anywhere better to go, since nobody ever invited the two of them to the shopping centre or the movies or wherever else the other kids in their year were hanging out. “He always said—”

“Excuse me,” Louis cuts her off. “Need another round.” 

“Oh.” Liam feels thrown slightly off-balance, but she recovers quickly. “Right, of course. Hang on, I’ve got my card here.” She starts fumbling in the little purse Zayn’s lent her, trying to get the clasp open. When she looks up again, though, Louis’ already gone, halfway down the end of the bar. 

It must be the kind of thing you settle afterwards, Liam thinks. That does worry her a bit—how are you meant to know how much drinks cost, if you’re not the one paying for them?—but if Louis’ not bothered about it, she can just wait and ask Zayn after. She hums a little to herself, doing up the clasp of the purse, and looks for Harry and Niall in the crowd again.

They haven’t moved from their original spot, although this time Niall’s playing what appears to be an invisible flute. Harry keeps crouching down on the floor and then rising up slowly in front of her, twisting and writhing. It takes Liam a moment to work out what they’re doing.

“Oh, a snake charmer!” she laughs, and turns to see if Louis sees them too.

Louis’ got her back to Liam. She’s leaning against the bar, talking to a girl with freckles and a mane of wildly curly red hair. The girl’s laughing. She leans closer, whispering something into Louis’ ear. As Liam watches, Louis slides one of her two drinks across the bar towards her. 

Liam’s stomach does a funny flop. She looks down at her lap, staring blankly at her borrowed purse. After a moment she opens it and sorts through the contents: her mobile, some cards, a tube of Chapstick that isn’t hers. She closes it again, feeling the clasp snick shut. 

Suddenly the music seems too loud. The room feels stuffy and hot, even in the tiny barely-there little dress she’s got on. She wishes that Zayn would come back, or that Harry and Niall would stop dancing with each other and come sit with her, just for a little bit. But that’s selfish of her, when everyone’s having such a nice time. 

She’d thought—well, for a moment she’d thought she and Louis were having a nice time, too. But Liam isn’t always good at knowing when people like being around her. Once, in year eleven, Amanda Newcombe had invited her round to her house after school for two weeks in a row. Only when Liam got there, riding her rusty old bike the fifteen blocks over, the lights were off and the house was all shut up. Andy'd had to take her aside and tell her, very gently, that Amanda was only asking her round as a joke, and really she was at the shopping centre with her friends. 

Liam doesn’t want to think about that, though. Instead she eats cashews out of a little dish on the bar and goes through the list she’s been keeping in her head: _Things New Liam’s Done That Old Liam Never Would’ve._ Taking shots, that’s definitely one. Two, if she counts them individually, which only seems fair. Staying out past eleven on a Friday night. Going to a gay bar, full of real live gay people. 

It’s all very exciting, when she thinks about it that way. She’s already been making loads of progress and it’s only been three months. Who knows? In three more, she might not even be bothered that Louis—pretty, popular Louis, with her brilliant smile and her razor-sharp edges—has ditched her for someone more interesting. 

“You must really like cashews.” 

Liam startles guiltily, her fingers still in the dish. “Oh no,” she says to the girl who’s just sat down next to her. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to eat them all. I can pay for them.”

The girl laughs. It’s a nice laugh, like she’s laughing with Liam instead of at her. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “They’re free. Or, well, they’re meant to make you thirstier, so I suppose you end up paying for them in the end.”

“Oh,” Liam says politely, unsure what else to say. The girl’s really pretty, with a sweet round face and big brown eyes, like something out of a Disney film. 

“I’m Jade, by the way,” the girl says. “Is it your first time?”

“Liam,” says Liam politely. “And yes, I’ve never been here before. 

“Thought so.” Jade straightens up, waving to someone over Liam’s shoulder. “Oi, Pez! Over here!” A moment later she’s joined by a girl with a nose ring and a shock of bright pink hair, long and curly on one side, buzzed on the other. 

“This is my girlfriend, Perrie,” she explains. “Pez, this is Liam.”

“Hiya, Liam,” Perrie says. “What’re you having?” She nods at Liam’s empty shot glass.

“Oh,” Liam says. “Just—just a vodka. It wasn’t anything fancy.” 

“Well, we can get you another of those, if you want,” says Jade, wrinkling her nose. “But it’s our treat, so. You should get something you really like.” 

Liam looks from her to Perrie, who’s smiling at her encouragingly. She knows she should probably order something impressive and grown-up, but she doesn’t think they’ll laugh at her if she doesn’t.

“I know this is silly,” she says, “but—I sort of just want an orange squash, if they have it.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Perrie says easily, slipping onto the barstool on Liam’s other side. “I could murder an orange squash right about now, actually. What d’you say, Jade?”

“Three orange squashes, coming right up,” Jade says, signaling to the bartender.

It’s easy talking to them, mostly because they keep a quick, light banter with each other that doesn’t make Liam feel left out at all. They’re both funny, and they don’t ask Liam any hard questions, either, nothing about why she’s in town or if she’s really old enough to be there. Jade does loads of silly accents, for absolutely no reason Liam can tell, and twice she makes Perrie laugh so hard she snorts orange squash out her nose. That makes Liam laugh, too, and for a while she almost forgets about Louis entirely. 

“Listen, Liam,” Jade says finally. “You seem really lovely—”

“—not to mention fit as fuck,” Perrie chimes in, grinning. 

“—which is why we’re wondering, darling, why you’re here with such an arsehole,” Jade finishes. 

Liam looks at them, wide-eyed. “What?” she asks.

“Your date,” Perrie says, jerking her chin. “The girl over there. You came in with her, didn’t you?”

Liam follows her gaze, to where Louis’ still leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with the redhead. 

Her heart sinks a little. “Oh, um, sort of. But she’s not my date. She’s—” She breaks off. She’d been about to say, _She's my friend_ , but to be honest, she’s not sure that's true. "It's complicated," she says finally, because at least that sounds more mysterious than _She thinks I’m boring and doesn’t understand why her friends keep inviting me along._

Jade and Perrie make sympathetic noises. "Ah, we’ve all been there, love," Jade says. "Well, if it helps, she's been staring at you all night. Reckon that's why nobody but us has gone anywhere near you." 

"Louis?" Liam says, surprised. "Oh, we must be talking about someone different. I don't think she's even looked at me since we came in." 

Perrie laughs. "She's sneaky about it, I'll give her that. Don't turn around, but—Jade, is she looking right now?"

"Yup," Jade says cheerfully. "Staring daggers, as a matter of fact. Don't think she likes us talking to you."

Liam can't think of a single reason why Louis would care who she talks to. She should be happy that Liam's found someone else to bore, so she doesn't have to be bothered. She says as much, looking down at her half-empty glass. 

Jade and Perrie exchange a look over her head. Liam’s afraid they’re going to ask something more about Louis, but instead Perrie just holds out her hand. “Come on, Liam,” she says. “Come dance with us. You’re too gorgeous to be sitting around at the bar, waiting for somebody who doesn’t appreciate you.” 

“Oh, I don’t—I’m not—” Liam says weakly, but the two of them have already hopped up, Jade extending her hand. Liam looks at it, biting her lip. She doesn’t know if she really wants to dance, but she also doesn’t want them to go away and leave her again. 

Out on the dance floor, Jade and Perrie circle up around her, keeping her in between them so nobody jostles her. Liam doesn’t really know anything about dancing, but they guide her gently in place, touching her hip here, her shoulder there, helping her feel the rhythm. The way they move together is as easy as their conversation, an effortless sort of give-and-take. Liam gives herself over to it, swaying between them. 

“Liam,” Jade murmurs after a while, her breath hot against Liam’s ear. Liam opens her eyes, not even aware that they’d slipped shut. “You should feel free to tell us to fuck off. But we’d quite like to kiss you, if you’re game.” 

Her hands are on Liam’s waist, holding her gently in place. Liam blinks at Perrie. “But—but you’re together,” she croaks. “Aren’t you?” 

"Yeah,” Jade says, “but it’s a bit flexible.” She coaxes Liam back, till Liam's arse flush against her hips. "And it's for a good cause. Right, Pez?"

"Mm, yeah, definitely," Perrie says, putting her own hands just above Jade's on Liam's waist, swaying closer. "This all right, babe? You can tell us to back off, no hard feelings."

Liam considers it. It's nice, being sandwiched between the two of them. She doesn't have to worry about whether or not her dancing looks stupid, or who might be watching her. And it feels good, too. Jade smells amazing, and Perrie's so gorgeous up close it makes Liam feel a little weak in the knees. 

"I like it," she says shyly, and feels Jade smile against the back of her neck, her lips brushing over the exposed skin just behind her ear. 

"We like it too, sweetheart," she says. "Could Pez kiss you now, just a little?" 

Nobody's ever wanted to kiss Liam before, not properly. When they were kids Andy used to kiss her in his treehouse sometimes— _for practice_ , they always said. Liam liked it all right, though generally she preferred it when they played footie and talked comics instead. Now, though, the thought of being kissed by Perrie makes Liam feel trembly all over. It's a good kind of trembly: not fear but eagerness, a breathless sort of anticipation. 

"Please," she says shyly, tilting her face up, and Perrie makes a soft, approving noise, bringing their mouths together. 

It's lovely. It's really, really lovely, the kind of kiss that sends sparks thrilling down Liam's spine, makes her toes curl a little in the narrow points of the heels she's forced them into. Perrie's mouth is soft and slightly tacky with gloss, and when she pulls back a little Liam makes a noise and tries to follow her, wanting the feel of it back. Then she blushes a little at her own forwardness, leaning back into Jade's arms. "Thank you," she says, looking down at the ground. 

"So polite," Jade murmurs in her ear. "You're a very nice girl, Liam, aren't you."

It doesn't sound like an insult, the way Jade says it. Not a, _You're so dull, Liam._ It sounds like a good thing to be. Maybe even a sexy thing. Fingertips brush along Liam's jawline, drawing her chin back up. Then Perrie's kissing her again, deeper this time, coaxing Liam's mouth open so she can suck gently at her tongue. Jade trails kisses along the curve of Liam's neck, murmuring in her ear about how lovely she looks, how perfect she's being for them, and Liam's so grateful that the two of them are holding her up because her legs have turned to jelly, her body gone pliant in their arms. She's never felt like this before, like the center of someone's universe. 

"My turn," says Jade after a while, and Liam goes easily into Perrie's arms, turning eagerly to kiss the sweet pink bow of Jade's mouth. Jade tastes different from Perrie, a hint of salt from the rim of her margarita, and she likes to hold Liam's face in her hands, fingers sliding through her curls like she's anchoring them both. Perrie's still holding her by the waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles over Liam's hipbones, and Liam's aching for her to move her hands, to slide them slowly up Liam's sides to cup her breasts, or down to—well, Liam doesn't know exactly, but Perrie does, she's sure. Perrie and Jade would know how to touch her, how to make her writhe in their arms, begging sweetly for it, wanting more. 

Someone clears their throat, loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass. 

"Payne,” a familiar voice says. “A word, please?”

It’s Louis, standing there looking at them with the stormiest expression Liam’s ever seen on her face.

"Sorry, love, she’s a bit busy," Perrie says, faux-sweet. Louis ignores her.

“Liam,” she hisses. “We need to talk, _now_.”

“It’s okay.” Liam slips out of Jade and Perrie’s arms with a vague sense of regret. “I’ll just go talk to her for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Jade gives her a little half-smile and leans in close, lips brushing over Liam’s ear. “Good luck,” she whispers. 

*  
Louis doesn’t say a word to her till they’ve cleared the dance floor. Liam’s expecting her to head for the toilets, maybe, but Louis takes a sharp left and leads them out a side door, into a narrow alleyway just beside the bar. It’s dark and damp, the scene dominated by two large bins overflowing with rubbish. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Liam asks. She edges away from the wall of the bar, which is covered with a strangely furry-looking black substance. Her dress is riding up again, and she tries surreptitiously to tug it down. 

Louis stares at her for a moment. Then she looks away. “You’re drunk,” she says, her voice tight. “And you’re going to regret this when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk,” Liam says. “I haven’t been drinking.”

“I saw you,” Louis says. “Those girls bought you something at the bar, didn’t they?”

“It didn’t have alcohol in it.” Liam tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “Why are you so worried about it, anyway? I thought the whole point of tonight was to have a good time.” 

Louis snorts. “Right,” she says. “Acting like a slag, is that your idea of a good time?”

It feels like a slap across the face. Liam takes a step back, her shoulder colliding painfully with the wall. She jerks away from it. “What?”

“Letting strangers buy you drinks,” Louis says. “Letting them kiss you. Letting them put their hands all over you.”

Tears prick at Liam’s eyes. “I’m not a slag,” she says. “I’m just having a night out. I’m _celebrating_. I don’t see why you have to be so rude about it.”

"You’ve got no idea how bloody irritating it is," Louis says fiercely. “Seeing people like you coming in here and acting like _that_ , just for a bit of attention. It makes me sick.”

“What do you mean,” Liam says, bewildered. “What do you mean, people like me?”

“Straight girls,” Louis spits. “I keep telling Zayn it’s stupid, inviting you to stuff like this when you clearly—I mean, it couldn’t be more obvious that you like blokes. You’re always going on about your precious boyfriend. It’s all _Andy said this, Andy thinks that,_ and then you’ve got the nerve to show up tonight, looking like that, and start kissing any girl who’ll have you.”

When she finishes her face is flushed a dark, angry red. She fixes Liam with a defiant gaze, like she’s daring her to say something. 

For a moment Liam can’t speak. She’s so close to tears she’s afraid she’ll start sobbing if she opens her mouth. Or, worse yet, she’ll start apologizing, the way she used to back home when the girls at school were cruel to her. She can feel it bubbling up within her, that old, familiar instinct: to crawl, to beg. To roll over onto her back and show Louis her belly, let her sink her claws in deep. 

She fights it down. That’s not who she is anymore, not who she wants to be. It grinds you down, having to be sorry like that. And it doesn’t work anyway; she knows that, after years of painful experience. Apologizing never made the girls back home like her any better. In the long run it just made things worse. _God, Payne’s so desperate. It’s pathetic, don’t you think?_

“Andy’s not my boyfriend,” she says finally, looking up at Louis’ angry face. “But even if he was, it’s none of your business who I’m snogging. You’re not my friend, Louis. And I’m sorry Zayn’s been forcing you to hang out with me when it’s so awful for you. I didn’t know that before, but—but now I do, and I’ll tell her not to invite me places with you anymore.”

Louis starts to speak, but Liam cuts her off. 

“And I like all sorts of people,” she says. “I liked kissing those girls, and I don’t care if that makes me a slag. Maybe I’m bisexual, or—or something, I don’t know. But I should be able to figure it out for myself, without somebody like you telling me off for it.” 

She doesn’t wait to see what effect, if any, these words have on Louis. She just flees, yanking open the door to the club and stumbling back inside. She stops at the edge of the dance floor, feeling dazed. Zayn materializes out of the crowd a few minutes later, grabbing her arm. 

“Were you with Lou?” she asks excitedly, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “You were, weren’t you? Did she talk to you?”

Liam looks at her. “I think I’d like to go home now,” she says, and then promptly bursts into tears.

*

Zayn texts Harry, who emerges from the bar fifteen minutes later Niall in tow. Liam’s sitting on the kerb half a block away from the entrance, hugging her knees to her chest. Zayn’s got an arm around her shoulders, comforting her. 

“Oh no,” Harry says when she sees Liam’s tear-streaked face. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Fucking _Louis_ happened,” Zayn spits. 

“But they were meant to work things out.” Niall’s eyes are wide. “You said if we just left them to it, they’d be fine.”

“I am fine,” Liam insists, hiccupping on a sob. “I’m f-fine, really, I’m just being s-silly.” 

“I’m going to kill her,” says Zayn angrily, still stroking Liam’s hair. “If she doesn’t choke on her own fucking self-righteousness first, the twat.”

Harry and Niall exchange a look. They seem to be speaking in some kind of code, Harry raising her eyebrows three times in rapid succession, pushing the tip of her tongue through her teeth, and finally squinting meaningfully off into the distance. Niall nods, as if Harry’s meaning’s perfectly clear. 

“I’ll handle Lou,” she says. “You two take Liam home and get her to bed, before Coach figures out we’re gone.” 

*

It's almost one in the morning by the time the cab drops them off at the back of the hotel. In the stairwell Zayn offers to come back to her room with her, but Liam waves her off. "It’s fine, really,” she says. “I’ll feel loads better if I just drink some water and go to sleep.”

“Don’t you dare go to the gym,” Zayn says, pointing a finger at her. “Coach says you’re not supposed to be doing double workouts till the season’s over.”

“I won’t,” Liam says, thinking that she might just do a very, very quick abs routine on the floor of her hotel room. Just something to help her settle. 

Zayn hesitates. “Listen, Liam. Tommo can be a bit—difficult, yeah? And stubborn, and prickly, and a real fucking dick when she wants to be, obviously. But she’s not a bad person. She just runs her mouth without thinking."

“Right,” says Liam. “Okay.”

Zayn doesn’t seem inclined to leave her just yet, though. She wavers a little.

“All I can say,” she says finally, “is that I’ve known her since we were really little, and I can tell you that if she’s feeling weird or scared about something, iit's like she somehow figures out what she really wants to do and then does the exact opposite, just to spite herself.” 

Liam’s too tired to sort out what Zayn’s trying to say. Also, the idea of Louis Tomlinson being scared of _her_ , if that’s what she means, is so ridiculous it doesn’t even bear acknowledging. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast, Zayn,” is all she says. 

Back in her room, she kicks off her heels with a sigh of relief, rubbing absently at her aching feet. She strips off the little black dress Zayn’s lent her and drapes it carefully over the back of a chair, to be returned in the morning. On go her superhero pyjamas, the little shorts and the loose grey t-shirt. 

In the en suite she washes her hands and face, scrubbing away the bar stamp on the back of her hand first and then the mascara that's run in ugly tracks down her cheeks. Her face is still puffy from crying. She’s just picking up her hairbrush, debating whether it's worth trying to work out some of the tangles in her curls before going to bed, when she hears a knock at the door. 

Zayn again, probably. She sighs and gives up on the brush entirely, pulling her hair up into a loose bun instead. 

"I'm okay, really," she says, opening the door. Then she freezes, her eyes widening. 

It’s Louis. She’s barefoot in the hallway, shoes dangling from one hand. She looks supremely uncomfortable, but she meets Liam’s eyes. 

"Hi," she says. "Um. Can I come in?"

Liam crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to feel self-conscious about the fact that she's wearing her dumb Batman shorts and no bra, while Louis’s still all dolled up from going out. 

"I don't know," she says. "Are you going to call me horrible names again?"

"No." Louis looks chagrined. "I won't, I promise." 

"Fine, then," Liam says, turning. 

Louis follows her in, standing awkwardly by the edge of the bed. Liam should invite her to sit down, probably—that’d be the polite thing to do—but she doesn’t. She’s sort of enjoying the feeling of not being the wrong-footed one for once. 

Louis takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology,” she says. “Those things I said back at the bar, I didn’t mean them. You’ve got every right to kiss whoever you like. And I shouldn’t have just, um, assumed stuff about you without asking.” 

"Okay," Liam says. “Thank you, Louis.” 

An awkward silence falls. Louis seems to be struggling with something.

“You said what you were supposed to say,” Liam tells her, as kindly as she can manage under the circumstances. “So I’ll tell the others you apologized and I forgave you, and then we can just sort of go from there. I mean, we’ll still have to see each other at practice, that can’t really be helped, but I’ll have a word with Zayn—” 

“I need to tell you something,” Louis blurts out. 

“Oh, no,” Liam says quickly. “There’s no need, really, you’ve made it all perfectly clear.”

“I haven’t.” Louis sounds like someone’s subjecting her to some kind of excruciating physical torture. “Payne, I—I like you.” 

“It’s okay,” Liam says. “I know you don’t really, and I understand now.”

“I _like_ you.”

"Stop saying that.” Despite her best efforts to stay brisk and efficient, Liam's starting to feel a little distressed. "We both know it’s not true. I'm dull, all right? I'm not witty or funny or smart like the rest of you, I'm just plain boring old Liam. And I know I talk about Andy too much, but it's only because he was nice to me when nobody else was. I’m just not very good at having friends yet, but I’m trying, I really am, and I’ll do better if I just apply myself, I—”

Louis takes two quick steps towards her, seizes her by the shoulders, and crashes her mouth against Liam’s. 

“Oh!” Liam jerks her head to the side, confused, and feels Louis’ mouth graze the corner of her jaw. “Sorry,” she squeaks, “sorry, just—did you mean to do that?”

“No,” Louis says. “Just tripped and landed on your mouth.” She sounds defensive, but Liam can see that her cheeks have gone very pink.

“You want to kiss me,” Liam says slowly. “You—you like me?”

“Argh.” Louis’ eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but Liam’s face. “Quit making me say it. I like you, Liam Payne, okay? I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Liam says sensibly. “There’s Zayn, you know.” 

“Yes, but I don’t want to shag Zayn,” says Louis, and then goes even pinker. 

Liam’s jaw drops. “You want to shag me?”

“I did,” says Louis, and then adds quickly, “I mean, I still do, obviously. But I’ve gone and mucked it all up, haven’t I? I mean, I can’t even kiss you properly.” 

“You could try again,” Liam suggests. “The kissing bit, I mean. And this time you could tell me you were going to do it, so I wouldn’t be so surprised.”

Louis looks at her. “Really?”

“Yes, go on,” Liam says, uncrossing her arms. She doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes flit down to her chest, then quickly back up to her face. “Ask me.” 

“Um,” Louis says, swallowing hard. “Liam, could I—could I kiss you?” When Liam nods, she takes a small step forward. Hesitantly, she reaches up to touch Liam’s face. Liam nuzzles a little into her palm, her heart pounding in her chest. 

When Louis kisses her this time, Liam melts into it, the way she had back at the club with Jade and Perrie. Louis’ mouth is soft but she kisses hungrily, with an urgency that makes Liam’s breath hitch. Louis slips a hand round her waist, tugging her closer. She sucks gently at Liam’s bottom lip, nips at it, and Liam’s mouth opens easily, letting Louis’ tongue slip inside. 

They kiss like that for what feels like ages, bodies flush against each other. Liam touches Louis tentatively, hands drifting up her sides, her arms, her naked throat, and Louis groans a little at the touch, pressing forward till the backs of Liam’s knees hit the mattress edge. 

“Liam,” Louis says softly against her mouth, before kissing the side of her jaw, her throat. “Liam, can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Liam breathes, “yes, please,” her breath catching at the feel of Louis’ fingertips brushing over her chest. Louis cups her left breast through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. Little sparks thrill down Liam’s spine as Louis strokes at the stiff little peak of her nipple, rolling it gently between her thumb and forefinger. It’s so good, but it’s not enough. Liam wants to feel Louis’ hands on her skin. She pulls back a little, reaching down to grasp the hem of her shirt. 

When she strips off her shirt, Louis makes a small noise of surprise. “Please,” Liam says again, reaching for her hand to guide it back to her breast. She feels breathless, excited, heat pooling low in her gut. Louis kisses her again, more fiercely this time. She presses up against her, twists Liam’s nipple just sharply enough to make her gasp. 

“Bed,” Louis says, her voice rough, and Liam scrambles to obey, climbing backwards onto the mattress and pulling Louis down on top of her, the two of them landing in a heap, kissing and kissing. Liam hooks her leg around Louis’ knee and arches up, their hips rocking together, making a frustrated noise. She feels the way she had back at the bar, held up between Jade and Perrie’s bodies, hot all over, skin prickling with want. 

“What do you want,” Louis says breathlessly, leaning over her, a knee nudging between Liam’s splayed thighs. Liam spreads them wider almost on instinct, rocking her pelvis up, and _there,_ yes, that’s what she wants. She sees the moment Louis catches on, her eyes going wide. Only instead of leaning back down to kiss her again, she frowns, leaning back. 

“We can just snog, Liam,” she says. “We don’t have to do anything else.”

Liam blinks at her, doubt beginning to creep into the back of her mind. She feels suddenly bare, exposed, acutely aware of the fact that she’s half naked and Louis hasn’t taken any of her clothes off. 

“But you said you wanted to shag me,” she says, her voice small. “Do you not want to?”

“God, yes,” Louis says in a rush, fingers curling against Liam’s naked side. “Liam, you’ve got no idea how much. But you don’t have to, like—prove anything to me, you know that, right?”

“Like that I like girls,” Liam says, sitting up a little. “Is that what you mean? I don’t have to have sex with you just to prove I’m not straight?”

“Yes,” Louis says, looking relieved. “Exactly.”

“That’s good,” Liam says. She reaches up and hooks an arm around the back of Louis’ neck, looking up at her. “I already know that, though. And I, um—I sort of want to keep going, if you do?” 

Louis studies her for a moment, her blue eyes serious. For a moment Liam’s sure she’s going to say no anyway. She tries to tell herself it’s all right, already starting to rehearse the reasons in her mind: it’s late and they’re both tired. They’ve only just started doing this, whatever this is. Liam’s not very experienced and it probably shows; no doubt Louis’ been with loads of girls, girls who know how to kiss her and touch her, girls who know what they want. 

“You’re worrying, aren’t you,” Louis says, the corner of her mouth quirking up a little. 

“I’m not,” Liam lies.

“You absolutely are,” Louis says. “You get this funny look on your face, like you’re trying to solve a really hard maths problem in your head. And you poke your tongue out a little between your teeth.” She’s smiling now. “It’s sweet.”

“It isn’t,” Liam says, frowning. 

“It is,” Louis says, and forestalls any further objections by kissing her, slow and deep and full of promise, till Liam’s squirming a little beneath her. Louis works a hand slowly between their bodies. She palms over Liam’s belly, fingers slipping just under the elastic of her panties. “No more worrying, Liam Payne,” she murmurs, her fingers inching lower, brushing against the soft curls there. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Liam’s wet already, just from kissing, and Louis’ fingers slip a little as they slide between her legs, tracing the outline of her slit through the damp cotton. Louis kisses the crook of her shoulder and rubs at her with two fingers, slow, steady strokes, fingertips pressing the fabric up inside her just a little. Liam whimpers a little but stays still, trembling with the effort.

“Good girl,” Louis murmurs, and tugs her panties to the side, fingertips slipping in the wetness there as she touches her properly. Liam has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She turns her head into the pillow, sucking in a breath as Louis’ fingers begin to slowly circle her clit. It’s different from the way she usually touches herself. That's brisk, almost perfunctory, chasing a quick orgasm so she can fall asleep. This is slow and deliberate, almost maddeningly so. It makes her toes curl, her calves tightening. It’s different, too, having all of Louis’ attention on her—not teasing or making fun, just wanting it. Wanting Liam. 

“This okay?” Louis says softly, pressing just the tip of a finger inside her. Liam nods, her eyes fluttering shut as the first finger breaches her. The second feels even better, the stretch of it good and strange and new. 

When Louis scissors them inside of her, Liam can’t keep from rocking up into it, driving them deeper, thighs clenching around Louis’ wrist. Louis makes soothing noises as she builds up a steady rhythm, Liam’s ragged gasps and the wet noise of her fingers working inside her the only sound in the room. 

Heat’s blossoming in Liam’s belly: heat and a tingling sensation, spreading outwards. She pushes blindly towards it, fucking herself open on Louis’ fingers, moaning when her clit brushes against the heel of Louis’ palm. “So gorgeous, babe,” Louis says, and crooks her fingers, rubbing over a spot inside Liam that makes her feel as if her limbs have turned to molten gold. 

“Oh,” she breathes, “oh, _oh_ ,” and this time when Louis’ fingers curl inside her, thumb still rubbing at her clit, she makes a soft noise and comes, clenching down hard. Louis kisses her through it, makes soothing noises into her hair as Liam shivers in her arms and finally stills. 

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” Louis says softly, stroking her bare shoulder. Liam remembers, then, that Louis hasn’t even gotten undressed, or gotten off, or anything.

“I can—” she says, trying to sit up, but Louis catches at her elbow, pulls her gently back down. 

“That’s all right,” she says. “S’really bloody late. Next time, yeah?”

Liam rests her head on Louis’ chest, just above the swell of her breasts. She can feel Louis breathing, slow and even. The lamp on the beside table’s still on, casting a soft, warm light over the bed, but she can’t be bothered to reach over and switch it off. 

“Next time,” she says sleepily, and falls asleep smiling. 

*

She wakes to the sound of someone hammering on the door. She’d forgotten to draw the blinds last night, and the room’s flooded with sunlight, spilling over the rumpled sheets. Liam sits up in bed, yawning hugely. Every muscle in her body aches. 

It isn’t until she pushes back the duvet, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, that she realizes one, that she’s naked, and two, that she’s alone. There’s nothing to indicate that anyone else had ever been there at all.

When she finally answers the door, a cheap hotel bathrobe cinched tightly around her waist, Assistant Coach Corden says, “Having a nice lie-in, Payne, are we? You'd better hurry if you don’t want them to run out of breakfast. I just saw Horan heading that way.”

Liam nods dumbly. Corden frowns. “All right, Payne? You look a bit peaky.”

“Just tired, Coach,” she says, trying for a smile. “See you on the bus.”

Liam checks the pillows. She checks under the bed and in the ensuite, too, to see if Louis’ left a note somewhere. There’s nothing. No texts either; the only new messages are from her mum, asking about yesterday’s game, and from Andy, who’s sent her six pictures of the car he’s obsessed with this week.

Liam puts her mobile down on the bedside table. She moves numbly into the bathroom and runs herself a shower, avoiding her reflection’s eyes. The water’s hot, but once she’s stepped under the spray she can’t seem to stop shivering, not even when she hugs her arms tightly around herself. 

It’s fine. Maybe Louis’d just gone down to breakfast with the rest of the team. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, her not being there when Liam woke up. 

_Or maybe you were rubbish at sex_ , a mean little voice in her head says. _Maybe she’s laughing at you right now, downstairs with the other girls. Maybe she’s told everyone what a slag you really are, and now they know, and they won’t like you anymore. If they ever really did._

“Stop it,” she says aloud, her voice trembling. “She wouldn’t do that. She likes me.”

But it sounds ridiculous, saying it out loud. Louis Tomlinson, star midfielder and a shoo-in for captain next year, harboring a secret crush on Liam Payne? Louis, who’d never shown the slightest interest in her before last night, suddenly confessing that she thought Liam was the prettiest girl she’d ever seen?

Louis had been drunk, Liam realizes with a horrible sinking feeling. She must’ve been, and Liam just hadn’t figured it out. And then when Louis woke up in bed beside her, she’d taken one look at Liam and taken off. 

She gets dressed in the bedroom, pulling on a worn pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Plain, plain, plain. That’s what she is, really—not just on the surface, but deep down, too. Three months haven’t changed a thing. She’s still the same old Liam.

By the time Harry knocks on her door, twenty minutes later, Liam’s made a sort of peace with what’s happened. She’s tidied the bed, just for something to do, and repacked her duffel bag twice, Zayn’s dress folded neatly on top. 

"You should really come to breakfast," Harry says, propping the door open before following her into the room. "They've got cantaloupe." 

"I'm not really hungry.” Liam sits on the bed, then spots her crumpled panties, lying on the ground under the desk. She crosses the room quickly and snatches them up, shoving them into the side of her bag. 

"But there’s cantaloupe,” Harry explains patiently, as if Liam hadn’t heard her the first time. 

"I don’t think anybody even likes cantaloupe," Liam says. "It's awful and bland and everybody just pick it out and throws it away. And if they don't, it's only because they feel sorry for it or something, not because they actually like it." 

“Wow,” Harry says, her eyes wide. “So cantaloupe’s a bit of a touchy subject, then?” 

“Sorry,” Liam says, flushing. “I—I think I must be getting my period or something. I feel a bit wonky.”

Harry shakes her head. “Nope, you had yours last week. I put it on my moon calendar.” 

"Your what?" 

"My moon calendar," Harry repeats. "You know, like, for tracking menstrual cycles.” 

“That thing’s dead useful,” Niall says cheerfully, putting her head round the door. “Haven’t been caught without a tampon for years. She’ll track your shits on it too, if you ask her nicely.” 

"Niall,” Harry says reprovingly.

"Sorry, your _bowel movements_.” Niall rolls her eyes. "Anyway, did you hear they've got whole cantaloupes downstairs? Well, halves, technically, but if you eat two of 'em it's a whole. So I think it counts.” 

“She says she’s not hungry,” Harry tells Niall. 

“Impossible,” Niall scoffs. “You’re either hungry or you’re dead, that’s what I say. Or you’ve just eaten a whole cantaloupe.” 

Harry shushes her quickly, looking worriedly at Liam. “Don’t, Niall, she’s got a bit of a block about C-A-N-T-A—”

“You know what,” Liam says, standing up. “Let’s just go to breakfast, okay?” 

*

The whole team’s descended on the breakfast buffet, the room buzzing with girls chatting and laughing, cutlery clinking against their dishes as they eat. Liam picks through the remains—a bunch of grapes, the promised cantaloupe, the top half of a sesame seed bagel—and finally settles on a strawberry yoghurt, dented on one side. Zayn’s slumped over her cereal bowl at a table near the door, half-asleep and surrounded by what looks like the ruins of Niall’s first breakfast.

"Morning, Zaynie," says Niall in a singsong voice, dropping into the seat next to her with a large plate of waffles.

"Piss off," Zayn mumbles, not opening her eyes. “Payne, you all right?”

Liam feels cold all over, then hot. “I’m fine,” she says in the brightest tone she can manage. It must not be very convincing, because Zayn cracks open one eye to look at her. “Really,” she says, and takes a bite of her yoghurt. 

There’s no sign of Louis here, and it doesn’t seem like she’s said anything to the other girls. Liam can’t decide if she’s relieved or disappointed. Maybe some part of her had wanted some kind of acknowledgment—just a glance, maybe, a throwaway remark, a rumor—just some conformation that it really did happen, that Liam really had lost her virginity last night in a one-night stand with Louis Tomlinson. 

“Uh oh,” Niall says suddenly, looking up. The rest of the girls crane their heads around to look, but Liam can’t bring herself to turn. She feels paralyzed, staring down at her plate. Wave after of sick, hot shame crashes over her, curdling in the pit of her stomach. 

“Rules are rules, Tomlinson.” Coach Winston’s only a few meters away, close enough for their table to easily eavesdrop. “Detention for a week, and I’ll need to call your mother when we get back to school.” 

“I understand, sir.” Louis’ voice, clear and carrying. “Thank you, Coach. Do I have to throw them away?”

Coach Winston sighs. “No,” he says. “Go on, then, give the girl her flowers.”

Her what? Liam looks up, confused. A moment later, Louis’ pulling out the chair next to her and sinking into it. She’s holding a gigantic bouquet of brightly colored carnations, dyed pink and yellow and white. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, but when her gaze meets Liam’s, she smiles.

“Payne,” she says. “I, um. I got you something.” 

Liam stares at her, then at the flowers. She’s dumbfounded.

“I know it’s not much,” Louis says quickly, misinterpreting her silence. “I wanted to get roses or something fancy, but those all cost, like, fifty quid, and I’m only supposed to use my mum’s card for emergencies. But I thought these were nice too, sort of cheery. Bright colors and all that.” 

“They’re—they’re for me?"

"Actually, they're for Harry," Louis says in a serious voice. "I've thought it over and I've decided, like, maybe you are the fittest girl I've ever seen, and maybe you're brilliant at sex, and maybe I really like you as a person and all, but do you keep a moon calendar? Nope. So I've snuck out and landed myself in detention, just to get these flowers for Harry." 

“Oh,” Liam says, crestfallen. “D'you think Niall might be upset, though?”

“Joke, Liam,” Louis says, leaning forward. “That was a joke. Of course they’re for you, you nitwit. Zayn texted me last night and said if I wanted to woo you I had to make some kind of grand romantic gesture, and all I could think of was flowers, so I snuck out this morning. Meant to bring them back to your room, but the queue took ages, and then Coach Winston caught me coming in, and, well—” She breaks off, looking suddenly concerned. “Liam?”

“You brought me flowers,” Liam says, and bursts into tears.

“Lou,” Zayn says in a sleepy but no less threatening voice from somewhere behind them. “What have you done this time?”

“Nothing!” Louis exclaims, looking alarmed. “Oh Jesus, Liam, please don’t cry—I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. It’s a good thing, see? It’s meant to make you happy.”

"I am happy," Liam sobs, and then flings her arms around Louis' neck, crushing the carnations between them. Weeping into Louis shoulder, she says, "I’m so happy, really, it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. And oh—now you've got detention, and Coach is going to call your mum, and it’s all because of me—”

"Oh, Lou’s always got detention,” Niall says. “That’s like, not even a sacrifice, really. Me and Haz think you should hold out for a more romantic gesture. Like a three-course homemade dinner and, I dunno, rose petals on the duvet. The works.”

“Maybe not the dinner part,” Harry says, frowning. “We don’t want her to poison Liam, not when they’ve only just managed to work things out.”

“Would you lot shut it,” Louis snaps, still patting Liam’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m trying to have a romantic moment with my—my girl.”

There’s a chorus of wolf whistles and _ooh-la-la_ s at that, but Louis ignores them. She draws back a little, so she can look Liam right in the face. 

“Liam Payne,” she says. “I’ve been an utter twat to you pretty much since the day we met—”

“Oh, you weren’t so bad at first,” Zayn interrupts. “Just vaguely tortured and sad about the whole thing. You just, like, seriously leveled up at the bar last night.”

“Excuse me,” Louis says, kicking Zayn’s shin under the table. “Let me make my romantic declaration in peace, please.”

“We’re helping,” Harry says. “We just think it’s only fair Liam knows the full story.”

“Yeah, about how pathetic Lou’s been all term,” Niall tells Liam. “All the Facebook stalking and the Googling and the constant whining about how awful it is, falling for a straight girl, boo-hoo-hoo.” 

“We know a lot about Andy, too,” Zayn says. “Sorry if that’s creepy, we just had to figure out if you two were dating for real or not. He’s got really nice taste in cars, by the way.” 

Liam looks at Louis, bewildered. “You could’ve just asked me. If you were interested in me, you could’ve just asked if I was seeing anyone.”

That makes the rest of the table laugh. “Hear that, Lou?” Zayn says, elbowing her in the side. “Could’ve just asked and saved us all the trouble?”

Louis ignores them. She turns her chair so she’s facing Liam straight on, her expression earnest and serious. 

“I know I sort of messed things up,” she says. “It's just, I felt like if I asked and you said you weren’t interested, it would’ve made things weird. Or, um, to be honest, it would’ve made _me_ weird. Like, irritable and kind of a dick. Although I guess that's what happened anyway.” 

She takes a deep breath. “Anyway, listen, what I’m trying to say is: Liam Payne, I like you. I really bloody like you, and I have done for _ages_. Last night was incredible. And I wanted to ask, like—if this wasn’t just a one-time thing for you—if you might want to do it again sometime. With, um, other stuff too. Like movies, or dinner maybe.” 

“A date,” Harry supplies helpfully. “She wants to go on a date with Liam.”

“Nah,” says Zayn. “Reckon she wants to _date_ her.”

“Liam." Niall takes Liam’s hand in hers. “We think what Lou really wants to ask you is, will you be her girlfriend?”

Liam looks at Louis, whose expression is embarrassed but determined. She looks at the half-crushed bouquet of carnations Louis’s still holding out to her, and at the faces of all their friends gathered round them: Harry, Niall, and Zayn, all grinning from ear to ear. She thinks about the person she used to be back in Wolverhampton, and about the person she’s becoming here, and about all the ways the two are connected, woven together to form the Liam that she is. 

“I will,” she says, smiling at Louis. “I want that, please." And this time when Louis leans forward to kiss her—slow and sweet, newly familiar—it doesn’t take her by surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always so appreciated! I post drabbles and WIPs at my fic blog [here](http://www.saysthemagpie.tumblr.com).


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